


Corporate Greed: Oh How I Loathe Thee

by MyApogee



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Bukkake, Choking, Double Anal Penetration, Exhibitionism, Facials, Fisting, Hate Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sloppy Seconds, Tentacles, Train Sex, Vore, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-07-25 08:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16194158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyApogee/pseuds/MyApogee
Summary: Capitalist/Modern/Urban Alternia AU. GHB and SumSum hookup on a train. GHB is the Very Big and the fucking is The Very Intense. This is very much porn without plot I just like the idea of fucking on public transit and wanted to apply it to the very good troll men.I wouldn't consider this graphic depictions of violence but the hate sex is kinda rough.





	1. My Morning Commute is a Major Pain in the Ass

        Your name is Rufioh Nitram, and you are new to Loathr. This sweep, your normal bucketmate is off planet during drone season. You need to find someone to fuck, and you need to do it soon, or you run the risk of getting culled. At first, you considered using apps like Pity Me Rite to find a matesprit. But you can’t. Not with Aranea off planet. It just feels wrong. So you’re on Loathr, trying to find a temporary kismesis. Well, technically, you’re on a train on your way to university. You got a full scholarship when you impressed the Condescension in military training, and you plan to make the most of it. Working your way up so you can tear this corrupt institution apart from the inside out. But to do that, you’re going to have to survive the sweep. So. Loathr.  
        Thanks to the giant risk of putting yourself out there looking for enemies and the reality that many lowbloods who try this end up getting killed by highbloods rather than drones, the app is pretty lenient in its required information. Caste, height, build, and several traits you think might make someone want to knock your lights out. You don’t give out your name or any pictures publicly. You can do that privately through messages if/when you want to. It also tracks your location. Very accurately. Which means there’s still a good chance you could get hunted down and killed. But hey, what’s dating without a lot of risk, right?  
        You weren’t too worried about that risk until today. You’d been using Loathr for a couple days now, and checking it during your commute you received a message from someone you hadn’t chatted with before.  
        “i know u. ur the condesces bitch.”  
        “those traits. like, wantin to fight for lowb rights. n headstrong. they helped. but ur tracks. they was the real key.”  
        You check this guy’s profile. He’s a highblood. His kismesis-worthy traits include “arrogant”, “violent”, and “about as motherfucking high up the spectrum as you can be without gills”. His location is only a couple hundred feet away. As the train speeds through town, you can see almost all the other locations constantly shifting. Your train is passing them by, changing the distance. But his remains the same.  
        “u on the same train as me, motherfucker. every day this week. got me wondering where a headstrong muddy gonna go in my part of town without dying. a boy like that needs protection. so im thinking u already got protection. from Her.”  
        “did i get it motherfucking right, boy? u being awfully quiet. :o)”  
        You know this is stupid. You know this is about as dangerous as it can get. And yet…  
        “I’m not hearing a point.”  
        “ha. ha. ha. there he is.”  
        “one sentence in and the motherfuckers already making me laugh.”  
        “dont believe me? here ya go. look at my big ole smile :o)”  
        Underneath that is a photo. And you recognize him. There isn’t a troll on Alternia who wouldn’t. The Grand Highblood, Kurloz Makara. Showing off his canines with glee. There’s just enough background to see he’s in the first class cabin at the front of the train. He’s wrong though. There’s no real ‘protection’ on you. Any highblood who wanted to kill you could. Especially him.  
        “Still not hearing a point. What do you want?”  
        “oh motherfuckers gotta lotta spirit talking like that after he seen my face. kudos to you brother. u definitely the bitch i been looking for.”  
        “so ill do u a favor and spell it out all nice like. tell u eXaCtLy what i want.”  
        “putting the hurt on trolls what think they can change things. smearing their blood on my walls. that shit is motherfucking euphoric.”  
        “but sometimes. a guy wants somethin else. wants to fuck a babe up a different way. hurt him real good in a way what both motherfuckers can enjoy :o)”  
        You wait a little bit for the next message. After no reply for a short time, you start thinking through your own response. But then the Grand Highblood continues…  
        “I WANNA SHOVE MY DICK SO DEEP DOWN YA THROAT I SEE IT BURSTING THROUGH YOUR SHOULDER BLADES. i seen your sexy ass doin drills from the army cams. I WANNA SPLIT IT OPEN UNTIL YOU BEGGING ME TO STOP BUT THEN I JUST FUCK IT HARDER. wanna ease in smooth like, fill you up slow til im balls deep in that sweet hole. THEN PULL OUT AND RAM IT BACK IN WITHOUT MERCY. i want your body close to mine, lemme inhale that earthy stank as i cuddle up real close all up in your hair like. put my arms around u… hand on your chin… aND GRAB YOU BY THE NECK AS I FILL YOU UP. PUMMEL YA TIL YA OVERFLOW WITH QUALITY HIGHBLOOD JIZZ W MY FINGERS REAL MOTHERFUCKING ACHY AROUND THAT THROAT.”  
        “you hearing a point yet, MOTHERFUCKER?”  
        You are stunned. Silent for too long. If you reply, he’ll know why it took so long. Because you were thinking it over. Running the images through your mind. This troll is the worst of the worst. You’ve hated him from afar, impersonally, for ages. Now you could get close to him. Learn about him. Use that knowledge against him. And get seriously wrecked in the best of ways in the process. You mean, you’ll… get to survive drone season. Because this is what this is all about, after all. Play it cool, Rufioh. Play it cool.  
        “Why the fuck would I let you do that shit to me?”  
        “ha. ha. ha. boys tryin to act tough but it aint workin so good.”  
        Yeah, you took too long. Fuck.  
        “how about you come up to first class n you and me can work out the details.”  
        “i took the LiBeRtY of givin ur student account an upgrade already. just swipe ya pass at the door and youll get in all easy like. thats good for a year by the way. token of good will n all that :o)”  
        You put the phone down for a moment and look at your hand. This is the only protection you have in this part of town: a wristlance. A fingerless glove with a small chapstick-like tube just under your thumb. When you tap your fingers to your palm, that tube extends into a very long and sharp lance. Since getting out of the military, you haven’t had to actually use it. Besides scaring off a couple trolls. But it hasn’t drawn blood yet. You wonder if it will now. If you go to see Makara, in first class with few to no witnesses other than maybe a couple more elites, it’s the perfect place for him to kill you. That would be in his nature. You don’t really know the specifics, where or how he usually kills lowbloods. But you know he does. Everyone does. Whether he wants to kill you or not, you should kill him first. Save a lot of lives, make a push for lowblood rights and freedoms. Be a hero. And almost definitely die a martyr in a night or two.  
        Maybe you’ll just hear what he has to say first.  
        You head through several carriages making your way to the front of the train. You don’t pass by any conductors. At the entrance to first class, you swipe your student ID and the door opens.  
        Inside is pristine. The seats are velvet with almost infinite leg room. The windows tinted, the walls ebony. Below, little red fairy lights border the aisle floor to guide trolls to the exits. Above, lanterns are gently humming with glowbugs. The cabin is completely empty other than the big man himself. Sitting with his back to you, just a mess of hair and giant horns from here, but he already looks so massive. You approach him.  
        “You came,” he says as you get close. You see him from the front and realize he’s at least a head taller than you, possibly two. He’s wearing a patterned suit, tailored to fit him, to emphasis his massive form. In his lap, his dick is poking out of his fly. It’s veiny, thick, bigger than any dick you’ve ever seen. And he’s casually stroking it, getting himself excited.  
        “I wanted to hear you out,” you say. Again, after waiting too long. “But I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”  
        “Can’t a motherfucker just jerk off in the privacy of his own cabin?” the Highblood asks. “Sit down. Let’s tAlK.”  
        “I’d rather stand,” you say. “I don't think this will be worth my time.”  
        “Oh, now that hurts my feelings,” he says. “You wouldn’t wanna hurt my feelings. But hey, stand, stand. It’s chill. Now, I’m offering the best goddamn dicking you’re ever gonna get in your life. But that aint enough for ya, right? You be motivated. Troll of action, troll of MoRaLs and shit. So here’s my offer.  
        “Become a regular. A troll I can hit up for booty calls now and again. Aint gonna be all the damn time, aint gonna pull you away from classes or shit… probably. But. In return for these favors. Imma move mountains for you. I’m talking AnYtHiNg you want. You need protection? You got it. Money? It’s yours. Some troll giving you funny looks. Consider him dEaD. How’s that for wOrTh YoUr TiMe, MoThErFuCkEr?”  
        Blessings from this economy’s two superpowers: first the Condesce and now the Grand Highblood. You’re really making connections. Setting yourself up in a situation to succeed and make real change. It’s the riskiest move you could possibly fucking make but fuck the payoff would be-  
        “Oh, but you would have to pass a little test first,” Makara says with a smile. “It’s eAsY. Right here, right now, this train. I cum in you three times. I choose where I cum, I choose the position. After the third time, you just gotta stand up real straight like for 10 seconds. You can manage that, we’re in business. Think you’re up to the challenge?” He offers a hand to you.  
        You’re always headstrong and stupid but it gets a thousand times worse when you’re challenged. You don’t back down from shit like this.  
        “Challenge accepted,” you say, grabbing his hand. There’s a half second of firm handshake, and then he uses it to yank you down to the ground. Dragging your shoulders between his knees, he’s really showing off first class’s leg room. His giant erect cock slaps you in the face.  
        “Then get to sucking, motherfucker. Imma fill your throat good, aint cumming til I’m balls deep in there, got it?”  
        There’s no way that entire thing is fitting in your mouth but he doesn’t seem to care. The moment you prove you’re willing to do this (AKA, the moment you open your mouth and take that first tentative lick at the tip of his dick) his hands are just above your temples and pushing you down. Taken off guard, your teeth scrape his skin as you down the first couple inches. Makara, meanwhile, loves it. He’s vocal and loud, rudely commending you for having such a choice fuckhole, groaning in pleasure when he hits your throat. You gag on him. Tears well up in your eyes, drool oozes out your lips. No matter how you many coughs you choke down, he keeps pumping you, drilling his dick into your throat. You get lightheaded, breathing heavy through your nostrils as best you can. You want to glare at him, shoot daggers with your eyes, but it takes too much energy just to keep your eyes open. You can’t see how much of this monster’s dick is lodged inside you, only feel its girth pummeling your exhausted airways. With the next thrust you feel the fabric of his pants hit your chin for just a second. You open your eyes with awe, shocked you’ve made it this far. Another thrust. Your head slams into him, your nose presses into his zipper, and your eyes close millimeters away from his belt buckle . You writhe as his hands keep you firmly locked down.  
        “DaRk HoRrOrs ThAt’S tHe MoThErFuCkInG TiCkEeEtTtT,” he moans. “Them squirmy noises you making… so FuCkInG gOoOoOoDdDd. Hey… you need to tap out… forfeit the challenge… just knock one of them puny hands on my shin a couple times. You go back to the shitblood carriage and we forget this whole thing happened, yeah?”  
        As if you’re going to give up now. You manage to glare at him. It’s not very effective since you are also choking uncontrollably, digging your fangs into the base of his dick, leaking tears down your stretched out jaw line that mix into the drool soaking his pants. He cackles.  
        “Sorry, motherfucker, I probably should’ve mentioned that earlier,” he says. “Now, where was I? Oh… right.”  
        He pushes your head away, shoving you off his dick. You finally gasp haggardly for air. But only a second later you’re back, faceplanting his belt and jacket, chin digging into his pants. Then pushed back again until just the tip is sitting in your mouth. His nails dig into your hair and he repeats this thrust about a dozen times within a matter of seconds. He groans and bucks every time you feel that pop in your throat. Your aching gag reflex leaves you quaking and so motherfucking hard. You feel numb to your own broken breaths, to the pain literally dripping from your lips. The Grand Highblood is the loudest fucking troll you have ever heard, groaning like he wants the entire train to hear. His thrusts lose speed, he spends more time keeping you locked down with that monster cock fully sheathed in your head. The fabric all around his fly is soaked through, you can feel the damp material pressing your entire face. He pulses inside of you, shooting cum directly into your chest. It overflows out your mouth, pushing through any little opening it can find in those tightly sealed lips. It runs out your nose, too, making it nigh impossible to breath. How long he holds you there with all manner of fluids running down your face you can’t tell, but fuck does it feel like a lifetime. When he finally lets go of you, he’s still cumming. As you gasp for air, your hands clutching at your chest and throat, he cums in your hair. He runs his still erect dick across your face and just absolutely coats you with it. You close your eyes, steady your breathing, as he continues to pile it on. You eventually hear his own haggard moans even out and don’t feel his dick on you through the layers of dripping semen. You hazard to wipe it from your eyes, looking down at the thick, glistening material. You look up at him, still face to face with that massive throbbing cock in its full glory.  
        “That’s level one, motherfucker,” he says. “We still got two rounds to go. And it aint gonna get any easier, bitch. Get ready.”  
        “I’m ready,” you reply, trying to sound confident.  
        He chuckles. “No you aren’t.”  
        His hands hook under your armpits and pull you up off the ground with ease. At your full standing height, you're still barely taller than him sitting. In a swift movement, he tears your pants off, literally ripping them into several pieces to do so. In an even swifter movement, your underwear is gone as well. The parts scatter on the floor by the few other belongings you brought with you.  
        “What the fuck, Highblood,” you curse. “I can’t go to class like this!”  
        “Oh, you’re gonna have to take today off,” he says with a grin. He rummages through a suitcase he had tucked next to him. “I’ll give you a note your professas can’t argue with. In the mean time, you can wear my jacket off the train, alright motherfucker? And I’ll buy you new pants. A whole pantry full of pants. Even if you tap out here. That throat was so motherfucking choice, it’s the lEaSt I can do. Now get up on the seat. Stand up so I can inspect the merchandise.”  
        You frown in the direction of your torn clothes, but obey. You get up, your own erect dick looking him square in the face. You hold on to the ceiling as best as you can to keep steady despite the train’s rocking. It pulls into a station just then, but you can barely make out where you are thanks to the tinted windows. You just see vague shapes of trolls shuffling outside. You’ve stood outside first class before, you know they can’t glean a thing. But your dick pulses with excitement at the thought of being seen like this.  
        The Grand Highblood finds what he’s looking for in his case: a generous bottle of lubricant. He keeps you steady with one hand as the second one works your ass. He coats the rim with a heavy load of lube, barely pressing into you at all to start. He leans in close to you. Your balls sit on his nose, dick on his forehead, precum in his wild nest of hair. He pushes his first fat finger into you. You show no sign of even noticing.  
        “Oh you’ve put this to good use already, I can tell,” he laughs. “Good, good, that’ll make this a LoT easier. Tell me, motherfucker, you ever taken a dick what’s as big as mine before?”  
        His second finger pushes in and you flinch, just a little. “Not yet,” you answer. He laughs again.  
        “Then you’re gonna fucking love this ride.” He absolutely guffaws and thrusts a third finger into you. At the same time, the train rocks as the engines kick back on and you leave the station. You bounce and your dick slaps his noggin. He takes his fingers out to apply more lubricant to them. He applies to both hands, forgoing the hand that was steadying you so that it can start coating his dick. Four lubed fingers press into your asshole. You moan, lose some balance, and buckle into him. Your dick trails down his face and his horns dig into your hoodie. As he pushes his hand into you, your knees fall into the seat. You lose any semblance of a grip on the sealing and hold his horns instead. You back off so you aren’t smothering his face with your clothes (you don’t want him to tear anything else off if you can help it). In the process, you also bend, leaning into those fingers. You feel them spreading you out as you get down to the knuckle.  
        “This asshole is a motherfucking champ,” he mutters with a grin. “Maybe you are ready for this. Try not to take me in too easily or I’ll feel like a real chump, you hear?”  
        “If the shoe fits,” you tease, feeling cocky and finally building confidence.  
        “We’ll see what motherfucking fits, huh?” His mangled toothy grin is so enticing, you can’t resist it. With your new found edge on him, you lean in for a kiss. He obliges you, opening up like he’s ready to swallow your entire face. His fat tongue overpowers yours with ease and dominates your mouth. Meanwhile, his fingers curl into an actual fist. He punches into you. You groan into his open mouth, he swallows your vocal agony. He pops his fist out, you break the kiss and gasp.  
        “So motherfucking eager,” he murmurs. “You’re really something else, ya know that? Hey, what was your name again?”  
        “Rufioh,” you pant, dropping into his lap.  
        “Don’t that sound pretty,” he says. “I’ll remember that. Now how about you get on my dick, Rufioh. Set the pace for a hot minute, huh?”  
        You show your approval by making out with him again while positioning yourself. He bites into your lip, you ease onto his dick. You squat on him, arms over his shoulders, fingers in his mange of hair. You ride the top couple inches, making steady progress without breaking lip contact. His elbows press into your waist, arms behind your back, and his hands rest on your shoulders. He tugs on your lip and then lets it go.  
        “Hmph, no, no, I don’t think so,” he murmurs. “That’s enough of this pussy shit.”  
        His nails dig into your collar bone as he bucks into you. His feet firmly planted on the ground, his back and shoulders sinking into the seat, he thrusts his hips into the air. In an instant, his dick is balls deep in your ass. You cry out in ecstasy. You feel the pressure in your stomach and your legs get weak. The Grand Highblood is your only source of support. You try not to collapse into him.  
        “That was too easy,” he says, clearly disappointed. “I thought I told you not to make me look like a chump. We’ll just have to try another position…”  
        Makara stands up with ease despite the lowblood currently impaled on his cock (you) and turns around. He lays your shoulders on the cushion, leaning your head against the back of the seat. Most of your body is still in the air. You try to wrap your legs around his waist. He stops you, grabbing your ankles with either hand and stretching you out into a split. You grimace at the position and he smiles.  
        “There we motherfucking GO,” he cackles. “no pain… NO GAIN”  
        His thrusts are violent. Fast, uneven, merciless. With each one he sheathes his monstrous cock completely inside you, only to pull it back out almost completely. Your hoodie falls, bunching around your neck, and you can watch the exposed area of your stomach bulge with every thrust. You moan uncontrollably, mouth agape as you stare hypnotized at his dick inside of you. But every sound you make is drowned out by the highblood. His grunts and groans could shake the ground if the train wasn’t already rocking it enough. They are interspersed with praise, how sexy you are and how good your pussy is. Your dick has been hard for ages, but this brings you so close to the edge. You grab it and jerk, unable to hold back any longer. You cum all over your face and hoodie while Makara continues to fuck you without even noticing.  
        The train pulls into its next stop. Kurloz Makara keeps fucking you into the seat. His dick feels so good ramming into you, but your back and neck are getting sore from this position. Your breath is too haggard to get a word out, but even if you could he’d still be drowning you out. Trolls finish boarding and the train kicks off again, Makara still keeping up the pace. Even though you take in his entire length with every thrust, he presses down on the back of your knees like he’s trying to spread you wider and fuck you even deeper. Your dick gets hard again. Now and then, the highblood slows his pace enough just to squirt more lube on himself. And each time he goes right back into piledriving you without signs of stopping. You go light headed once again. There isn’t much for you to do but take him until he cums, passively reclining while he does all the work. The train pulls into another station. You wonder just how long the highblood can keep up this pace.  
        “Hmph… getting close,” he groans like he can read your mind. Unless you said that out loud? Everything’s so blurry, you can’t tell anymore.  
        “Flip over,” he commands. Despite this, he does it himself. With his dick half way inside you, he grabs your waist and pivots you, pushing your knees under your chest. The train takes off and Makara picks up his prior pace, slamming your knees into your face and, in turn, your head into the seat. His hands are fumbling along your back, carving scars down your spine, as his thrusts become clumsier. He falls down around you, collapsing into the chair with his limbs surrounding you. With one final thrust he is again fully submerged in you and absolutely drenches your insides. His cum fills your stomach, overflows around his dick and trails down your taint. He hectically bucks in and out just an inch or two a couple more times, milking himself inside you. It makes you cum as well. His juice drips down you, trailing down your cock and mixing into your own cum. You get to watch that happen up close and upside down from this position. The amount of cum in this troll is just unbelievable. It takes him several minutes just to finish emptying out in you. And he plans to go a third round?  
        “That was SoOoOoO motherfucking DeLiCiOuSsSsS,” he hisses, easing up. He starts pulling out of you but stops with the tip still inside, keeping as much of his material in you as possible. The weight of it feels heavy in your chest.  
        “Two orgasms down… one to go,” he murmurs. He pats his hands on your back, tapping his fingers. “Location, location, location. Where oh where should I cum for this very special last round…” His nails dig in every now and then and a paralyzing thought crosses your mind. What if he intends to make a new hole? You clench your fist and get ready to extend your wristlance at a moment’s notice. You just hope you’re quick enough in this weary state and awkward position. Makara leans in over you, blocking out all the light around you.  
        “I know,” he whispers in your ear, “hope about… in the shitblood carriage?”  
        You don’t get it. You don’t… understand…  
        Keeping your asshole plugged up with his cock, he scoops your legs into his arms and raises you off the seat. Standing straight, the position has him showing you off to the empty first class cabin. He starts walking towards the back.  
        “Wait… you’re not gonna…” the pieces start to form together in your mind. “You can’t fuck me out there!”  
        “I’m the motherfucking highest of highbloods, BiTcH,” he says. He looks enthralled, absolutely delighted. “I do what I want, who I want, where I want. And aint nobody stop me. So tell me, cocksucker, you ready for a bit of eXhIbItIoNiSm, or yall gonna tap out?”  
        He reaches the door and stops there, waiting for your clearance. If he takes you into the next car, you will be put on display in front of dozens of commuters. Your dick front and center, him plowing into you, your legs spread in his arms. Your back is leaning into his chest… when did you hook your arms around his neck? The throbbing heft of all his cum in your stomach feels so heavy… what would that be like after another round? You want to think of what’s at stake, everything you can get by seeing this challenge through to the end. But another thought dominates your mind. How fucking sexy it would be to get utterly wrecked while a bunch of trolls look on agape. How no other troll on Alternia could offer this kind of fuck to you up on a silver platter.  
        “Hey, Kurloz.” You look up at him. Your insecurities are gone and you are so fucking ready for this. “Get this hoodie off me first, but don’t rip it. Shoes, too. You’re gonna ruin me out there, and you’re gonna do it right, got it?”  
        “Motherfucker I’m going to spoil you rotten,” he moans. Leaning back enough to support you between one arm and his body, he takes off the rest of your clothes. He leaves your wristlance alone, and you’re pretty sure he knows exactly what it is and just doesn’t care. When you’re fully in the buff, your dick throbbing with anticipation, he elbows the door button and steps through the gateway.  
        There’s only about a half dozen trolls in this carriage. Some guys high enough up the spectrum to not be utterly terrified of the first class cabin. They recoil at your entrance as the Grand Highblood makes a show of the lowblood on his dick wearing nothing but semen. Overall they are stunned, gaping at you, too nervous to move. One snaps a photo and tries to cover it up.  
        “No, no, please,” Makara announces to the cabin. “Get closer, make a vid if ya want to. How often you get to see a show like this? Consider it my gift to you.” He laughs and brings you closer to them.  
        “You know,” he says quieter, right in your ear, “I was going to go down a few more carriages, find that peak lowblood traffic, but those trolls won’t be staying on much longer anyways. Territory’s getting a little too risky for your type. Other than you, of course. You’re gonna be milking me all the way to the end of the line, Rufioh, so this car will be plenty comfy til then, yeah?”  
        You are transfixed by all the eyes on you. The lights from phones snapping pics and taking video. A couple of the trolls are getting hard, one even starts casually rubbing himself.  
        “Are they gonna join in?” you ask, loud enough for everyone present to hear.  
        “Cocky bastard,” Makara chuckles. “No. Right now, you’re just for me to enjoy. But maybe, if they ask politely, I’ll let them cum on you when I’m finished.”  
        “Aw, sorry, guys, maybe next time.” The words leave your mouth and surprise you. You are just so turned on by this, so overcome by lust and so fuzzy in the head from the highblood’s ceaseless fucking. It’s a high you’ve never known. But you want more of it. And Makara is happy to deliver. There are interspersed handles attached to railings on the ceiling for trolls that need to stand. Makara brings you over to these. He turns you around to face him again, letting your legs wrap around him this time. He hooks your hands up to the handles, and you grab onto them obediently. You cling tight, bearing the brunt of your weight, as he leans back and starts plowing into you slowly. You’re fucking midair, filling up the center of the aisle, green and blue bloods watching and recording from either side. Unlike first class, these windows aren’t tinted. The train pulls into the next stop, and a few agape commuters get a peak of your show. You can see them pointing, calling out to trolls further down the track. Soon, a multitude of guys from all over the spectrum fill the car, trying to get the best view. There’s chatter, conversation, trolls wondering if they’re gonna get a turn and the original crew filling them in. Makara’s hands on your waist grip you tighter and he picks up speed as the train once again departs.  
        “Hey, eyes on me, bitch,” he grunts. He thrusts violently and digs his claws into you. “I’m the one fucking you. I’m all that matters right now. Got that?”  
        You feel everything inside you splashing turbulently as he fucks you just like he did before. Only this time, you have to stay sharp, keep your arms strong, or you’ll fall and hit the floor with a bang. Already you’ve lost strength in your legs, unable to stay wrapped around him. They drop, splaying out to either side and bouncing helplessly with each thrust. Looks like he can only get balls deep when you’re split apart like this.  
        “ANSWER ME!”  
        “Yes!” you manage through your moans. It takes so much concentration just to stay up. You can’t control all the noises you’re making, although you can barely hear them through the murmur of the crowd. “Yes! I got it!”  
        “Got it, WHAT?”  
        “Got… got it…” what is he looking for? He hasn’t asked you to call him anything. Your head is fuzzy. Think think. “Motherfucker…”  
        “That’ll work,” he grunts, apparently satisfied. His hands run up and down your sides as he fucks you. All the momentum, between his movements and that of the train, shakes your full stomach and makes you feel queasy. You are very aware of the smell of the cum still clinging to your hair and face. You try to block out the noises and lights coming from the excited audience watching your big debut. Focus on staying upright. One of Kurloz’s muscular arms snakes under you, baring the weight of your back. The momentary relief is nullified when a moment later his other hand lets go of you completely and leaves you struggling to support yourself again. Your eyes struggle to see what he’s doing. You feel him put a thumb to your dick, and two plump fingers wrap around. He pumps you tenderly, and slows the pace of his own dick to match. The relief in your backside gives you the strength to lift your legs again, better securing yourself around his waist. Your head, which at some point had started hanging limp, is clear enough to raise high once again. You look Makara in the face. It’s his eyes that are closed, his grunts that seem strangled. You’ve milked him so much already, but he put on this big tough act about this and is struggling to follow through. He wants to drag this out.  
        “Hey, big guy,” you murmur. You reach out one hand and grab his lapel. You pull yourself up, hooking your hands around his neck and leaning in face to face. “What’s say you lay down on the ground, maybe get some trolls to put their coats down for you, you know? Give me the reins for a bit.”  
        “You think,” he grunts, “you’re… getting off the hook… that easily? I don’t think so, motherfucker.”  
        There’s a glint in his eye that comes to life. You wonder if that’s how you look when he challenged you. You don’t get time to wonder. Makara turns you and lowers you. Your legs are spread again, this time running vertically up his body with one foot barely toeing the ground for support. He grabs your other leg and keeps it close to his chest. His free arm wraps round your chest and claws into your back. The way he holds you and fucks into you now is as if you’re just a big fleshlight. He starts out super uneven, having difficulty gathering momentum. But he gets there eventually, resuming that old familiar pace of his. Fuck, his stamina is out of this world. He isn’t bothering to pull out as much as he was before. He only goes about half way out, then balls deep back in, but it’s so rapid, so eager, so desperate, it’s like he’s vibrating wildly inside you. A few minutes into this the train lurches and he buckles, dropping to his knees. You come crashing down with him and your elbow slams into the floor. He keeps fucking you like nothing happened. He lays you down, one leg still strapped to his chest while your other one slips between his knees. He’s low, practically sitting on your leg, grinding into your horizontal body. You feel something hit your face. Some troll jerking off in the crowd just came on you. You are vaguely aware of them running off, hoping the Grand Highblood won’t hunt them down. You’re sure the big guy didn’t even notice. He’s at the end of his rope. His groans are thunderous, every minute thrust is labored. They’re spaced out a lot now. He sits with his dick about three quarters of the way into you for a while, then bucks a couple times before resting again. Another troll cums on you.  
        “You ready to tap out yet?” you ask him, mustering a grin.  
        Seemingly ignoring you, he pants. He pulls out of you, and you feel the rush of liquid leaving your body and spilling out all over the train car. He sets your legs down and walks, on his knees, over to your face. He sticks the head of his dick in your mouth only seconds before cumming. A good amount goes in your mouth, but most of it just glazes right over your teeth and lips, passing over your face like a river. It shoots up your nostrils, glosses over your closed eyes, and sticks to your hair, masking you.  
        “You’re hired. Even if you can’t stand, though I bet you can. I don’t fucking care. You’re way too good a fuck to pass up on,” the Grand Highblood mumbles as he gets to his feet. “All right boys,” he says, turning to the rest of the car, “I want this troll absolutely covered horn to toe in jizz. Stay standing and just let it rain, I don’t wanna see any one of you lay a finger on him. If you do, I’ll split you in half… Not in the fun way.”  
        He stumbles over to a chair and pulls out a canteen, tucking away his finally soft penis. You are just barely aware of this through your squinted eyes as the crowd obeys their highblood’s command.


	2. Meeting Your "Chauffur"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is not explicit, outside of briefly mentioning sex that has previously occurred. I was just revisiting this short story and want to add more NSFW for it... but when I went to write... I kinda... didn't write smut. But, maybe I'll make a third chapter (or more eventually).
> 
> If you read Chap1 awhile ago, you might wanna reread before this. Rufioh is a rebellious soul who wants to get in with the Highbloods in order to make the system work for him. He meets someone else who might relate.

        There’s a deafening splash and you are soaked to the bone, instantly waking you. You swim up for air, gasping, confused and lost. You feel week and sticky, unsure of where you are or how you got there. Blinking your eyes open, you see violet bathroom paneling. You’re in a huge purple tub, the water running over with candy pink bubbles. Standing beside you, inside the tub and wearing a one piece bathing suit, is a muscular olive blood. She kneels down, picks up a sponge, and starts scrubbing you clean. It takes a moment before you recognize the substance that’s coating you.  
        “Thank you,” you utter as you start to piece things together.  
        “Oh, you’re _furry_ welcome my dear,” she says with a smile. “Just doing my job.”  
        “Where uh… where is he?” you ask.  
        “Hehe :3, you’re not _purrious_ about where **you** are?”  
        “That too,” you say.  
        “Well, you’re in the penthouse suite atop the Messiah Brothers main building,” she says, “and Kurly-poo is in the _purrtiary_ bedroom taking a little nap.”  
        “There are three bedrooms in this suite?”  
        “There are five!” she beams. She takes a bottle of shampoo and starts massaging your scalp. She jogs your head around roughly but it’s oddly soothing.  
        “Your belongings are just outside this bathroom,” she continues. “After your bath, you can grab them and something to wear and we’ll go shopping!”  
        “Shopping?”  
        “Oh yes, I’ll be your _chauffur_ for the day and we can go buy just about anything that you want. You’ve been given a Bank of Alternia brand Royal Card with a 10 boonbuck daily limit, and Kurloz insists I don’t take you home until you’ve spent at least 8 of them.”  
        Her fingers leave your head to grab towels and you are stunned and motionless. A 10 boonbuck daily limit. That’s 10 million boondollars. Nobody can spend that kind of money in a day. Or, nobody should. That’s ridiculously extravagant. You are hit by a wave of water as the friendly troll rinses the bubbles away. She effortlessly lifts you out of the bath and settles you on the edge. As she’s wiping you down, you stand to help her and your knees wobble. She begins to protest, but goes quiet when you regain your balance without too much difficulty. She’s wide-eyed for a moment, a hint of blush goes into her cheek.  
        “I didn’t catch your name,” you say to break the silence.  
        She regains her composure, smiles, and offers you her hand. “I’m Meulin! What’s your name?”  
        “Rufioh,” you say. You shake her hand and her grip is very firm. Your arm feels like spaghetti, but you are at a disadvantage due to the intense fucking you had less than an hour ago. In the back of your mind, the name sounds vaguely familiar, but you can’t place it.  
        “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rufioh, I look _furward_ to seeing more of you.”  
        Something about her delivery throws you off a little. But you’re dry and Meulin ducks out of the room swiftly, letting you know she’ll be back in a moment. True to her word, she returns a second later with a cart. The bottom shelf has silky purple lounge wear of a couple different sizes and styles. On top is a spread of jewelry and accessories with the Highblood’s color on them, some of which even have his symbol.  
        “This was… already prepared,” you say slowly.  
        “Yes,” Meulin says calmly.  
        “He’s done this before.”  
        “… Yes.” Quieter this time.  
        “He’s going to kill me.”  
        “… I don’t… I don’t know,” Meulin says. She looks at you with concern. But not like she’s pitying you. More like she’s studying you, trying to read you.  
        “When Kurloz brings someone home, he goes right on with his day like nothing happened,” she explains. “Meanwhile, whoever he brought home can’t even get out of the bath. I’m so used to fetching the four wheeled device, I was really taken by _furprise_  seeing you stand on your own. Especially after seeing Kurloz. It’s quite the switcheroo, how fast he passed out in bed like that. You’re something special, Rufioh.  
        “And it doesn’t end there.” She picks up the clothes one garment at a time, holding them up to your chest to find the right size. “Usually Kurloz just throws me a boonbuck and tells me to pick up a fancy suit. If the troll comes back for another round, they wear the suit, they have a rowdy time, and then it’s Kurloz in the bath and I’m… scrubbing off the blood.”  
        There’s a pause and the air in the room feels stiff. But it's only a moment before Meulin perks up and cheerfully says, “So the credit card thing is promising, right?”  
        “Y… yeah,” you answer.  
        Meulin sets aside the clothing that’s your size and lets you pick out which items specifically you would like to wear for your shopping escapade. You wouldn’t normally wear silky things to begin with, so nothing’s really your style. But hey guess that’s what the 10 million boondollars are for. You grab long, dark silk pants and a loose, pale tanktop for the time being.  
        “And what about these?” you ask, pointing to the accessories, though you think you have an idea.  
        “Something _fur_ _purrtection_ of course,” Meulin answers, confirming your theory. “Pick out whatever you like and you can keep it _fur_ the rest of your life.”  
        “However long that may be,” you mutter. Meulin gently nods.  
        Something about your own impending death seeming much more tangible and closer than you thought it would be makes you put a lot of thought into your decision here. What had other trolls chosen? Which of these accessories have been splattered with blood, taken off a corpse, and then polished again to look new? You don’t wear a lot of jewelry to begin with, but you look over the rings and jewels and see how small they are. You picture a lowblood picking one of them from the display, only to be brutally murdered when the Grand Highblood is insulted they chose such a small token. The anklets and bracelets have his color but not his symbol, is that enough to get you culled? There’s a scarf and a couple of similar fabric pieces that you can see blowing away in the wind. And then… oh you don’t want to choose this one. You really don’t. It would be… the most embarrassing thing to wear in public ever. It has his color, his symbol, and it won’t blow away. Scanning over everything that remains it really is the most reliable choice. You hesitantly put your hand on it and Meulin _beams_.  
        “Oh!! Are you really going to pick that?” she says, her smile taking over her face. “That one’s my _favfurite_! But nobody ever picks it and I just can’t see why not, it’s so pretty and _purrfect_ and oh I’m sure he’ll love it!!”  
        The adoration on her face makes you feel a little less embarrassed. It also makes you feel more confident in your choice as well. You slip the choker out from its stand and fasten it around your neck, making sure the charm with his symbol is front and center.  
        “Take your time in getting dressed and _fureshened_ up,” Meulin says, her friendly and happy demeanor back to normal. “I need to get changed as well, then I’ll be back to take you shopping.” On her way out she says you can do whatever you want while you wait, just try not to wake Kurloz up. For once, you don’t take that as a challenge. You’re down from the adrenaline high you experienced earlier and soberly getting dressed leaves you concentrating on your morals and priorities. You could probably still get to your afternoon class on time if you don’t linger here for too long.  
        Meulin returns dressed like a frilly doll, a purple ribbon in her hair. She hands you your satchel of belongings as well as two cards. The first is the previously mentioned royal card. The second is your student ID.  
        “Your ID has been upgraded to include access to this suite _fur_ the rest of the year,” she informs you. “Come back _whenevfur_ you like! Even if you don’t have a date planned and you just want a comfy place to take a catnap.” You accept the items and follow Meulin down the elevator. 

        An elite shopping center is just a short walk away. While some trolls own cars, many walk the crowded streets and most depend on public transit, which is remarkably efficient, especially in higher tier territories. You imagine Meulin, “the chauffur”, typically would be pushing the Highblood’s fucktoy around in a four wheel device on their way to buy a suit. One suit. One that would likely be bloodied and torn apart before the troll’s lifeless body was tossed away for monsters to devour.  
        You guide Meulin away from the high end fashion stores, out to a cheaper shop on the back end of the plaza. The clothes are still expensive, but not ridiculously so. You pick out a single outfit to replace the jeans and underwear that were torn and the shirt and hoodie that were stained. Something that wouldn’t look too out of place in your wardrobe until someone spotted the brand name. Meulin watches you do all this curiously, but doesn’t question it. When you’re done, you ask for Meulin’s number so you can forward her the e-receipt as proof of purchase. The look on her face is incredulous, and you bet she’s thinking you’re going to fuck with Kurloz by only spending a couple hundred boondollars. But you grin as her jaw drops. She received a second email with a second receipt. Letting her, and later Kurloz, know that you used his card to make a donation of nine million boondollars to the Sufferer’s Legacy, a charity organization that fights for lowblood rights and has made a lot of progress to that end. You’ve personally been to several of their protests and have been an enthusiastic supporter for ages. You’re happy you finally got the perfect opportunity to do something amazing for them. Something that also happens to be the biggest “fuck you” to the Grand Highblood you could possibly give. But if you’re going to die, you’re going to make it worth it.  
        The sound of sobbing breaks you out of your rebellious reverie. Meulin has dropped down to the ground, hands clapped over her mouth and tears streaming down her cheeks. You kneel down beside her and steady her shoulders.  
        “Hey, hey, Meulin, talk to me.”  
        She shakes her head and tries to wipe tears from her face. And you recognize her name now. Down on the ground, crying. The clip was broadcast when the Signless, the Sufferer, was publicly executed. Meulin, his disciple and greatest love, was spared from the same fate despite her cries and protests, her pleading to be put down alongside him. Online, she’s been an inspiration and stays vocal within forums, spreading his message and keeping his fire alive and burning. All from a handle (as opposed to ‘Meulin’, which is why you didn’t make the connection sooner) that many doubted was even her own. Especially since she hadn’t been seen in public for ages. Plenty of trolls thought she was dead, including you. But here she was, locked away, running errands for the Grand Highblood all this time.  
        “I’m… I’m so sorry,” you start. “I… didn’t recognize you.”  
        Muttered quiety through the sobs, you hear, “you must hate me.”  
        You get it. You had the same concerns. Getting a scholarship from the Condesce herself, going to an elite school. You’re using it to your advantage to fight for lowbloods in your own way. But would other trolls see it that way? Would they think you’re just giving into the system and profiting off their pain like the highbloods do? It’s an internal struggle you deal with almost every day. It must be ten times worse for her. She used to be at the forefront right beside the Signless, paving the way. And here she is now, supporting the cause online while working the dayshift for Kurloz Makara himself. No not just working the dayshift. Scrubbing cum off his fucktoys. And their blood off his body after…  
        “No, I don’t hate you,” you tell her. You hug her, paying no mind to the few midbloods giving you curious glances. “I’m proud of you and how strong you are and I’m honored to be here with you.”  
        “I’m not strong…” she mumbles. “I’m not…” 

        You don’t go to your afternoon class. You take the rest of the day off to spend it with Meulin. Using your own card, not the Highblood’s, you take a bus out of the city center and to a quieter neighborhood. You get lunch at a small diner, from which you can watch some kids play in a nearby park. You don’t pry into her personal life, or ask her what exactly happened that brought her to where she is now. You just eat.  
        “The chucklevoodoos make things easier” she tells you, without prompt. “It was unbearable _befur_ them.”  
        You need to murder Kurloz Makara.


	3. All The World's A Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurloz and Rufioh are unhappy with each other, but it's nothing more exhibitionism can't solve.

        Back at your hive, you open your husktop to find notifications from your professors. They’ve emailed you today’s material and comprehensive guides, going above and beyond to keep you up to speed, fully recognizing and respecting that your absence has been excused by none other than the Grand Highblood himself.  
        You really hate him right now.  
        Speak of the demon. You get a message from him as well.  
        “i found out about your little stunt today. DON’T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN.”  
        He means the large donation to charity you made in his name. You want to tell him off. Let him know you’ll be making another donation tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. Meulin gave you that card to keep, so why shouldn’t you make the most of it?  
        Because he’ll kill you is why. He’s probably already told the bank to cancel the transfer. Even if he let this one slide, he wouldn’t let any others, obviously. You don’t know what to say to him. Or what to do. You hate him so much, you want to tear him apart right in front of the Condesce and then point at her like, “You’re next!”  
        But you also want to live.  
        “stretched out pussy too tired to talk right now, huh? that’s okay, i can let you recover. talk to ya later, WHORE.”  
        What a fucking asshole.  
           
        You take the train to school the next night without incident. Attend classes normally, as if nothing ever happened. But after your last period, you leave to find Kurloz Makara waiting on the staircase, wearing a pinstripe purple suit. A young indigo blood is asking to take his picture. Kurloz poses for it, which apparently means showing off his huge sharp teeth in a wicked grin, as well as giving the kid the middle finger. The freshman snaps the pic and leaves euphoric. Kurloz spots you and narrows his eyes.  
        “You’re not wearing the choker,” he points out.  
        “Congratulations, you have vision,” you say.  
        He looks at you curiously. In a way, it reminds you of how Meulin looked at you yesterday, when she was trying to understand you better. The Highblood steps away from the wall he was leaning against, standing at his full height. He moves closer to you and crosses his arms, tilting his head to one side as he continues to observe you. You maintain eye contact.  
        “Why the fuck are _you_ angry at _me_ ,” he eventually says. “You seemed pretty into this thing before.”  
        “That’s _M_ -” you stop yourself before you say her name. He has to know, right? He knows he’s employing the Disciple, right? If not, you-  
        “Meulin,” he finishes. “Yeah, I know who she is. That’s why _I’m_ angry at _you_.”  
        He bows his head to glare at you at eye level. “You made her motherfucking cry. Don’t let it happen again.”  
        He spoke just barely above a whisper. You blink in confusion.  
        “Wait, is that what you meant?” you ask. “By ‘a little stunt’?”  
        “Was there something else I should be motherfucking angry about?”  
        “I made a donation to charity…” you say hesitantly. Was he really angry that Meulin cried? It’s not like you were _trying_ to make her cry. Why would he even _care_? He’s the _Highbl_ -  
        “Oh boo fucking hoo,” Kurloz says. “It’s a couple million boondollars, kid. I use boonbucks to scratch my back, you think I give a shit? Here, gimme that.”  
        He pats your pockets until he finds your palmhusk. Normally, you would fight back, but you are still emotionally reeling right now. You spent last night stewing over how awful he is, and like, that’s still true of course, he is awful, he kills trolls just because he feels like it and he’s the motherfucking epitome of greed and oppression and-  
        “I didn’t see a nightly option on their site. Smallest I could find was wipely.”  
        The Grand Highblood hands you back your palmhusk. The screen shows that you’ve been signed up for regular donations under the card he gave you. 9 boonbucks a wipe to the Sufferer’s Legacy.  
        “Maybe when they earn enough to start their own army, they’ll let you lead it in exchange for being so generous and all,” Kurloz says with a chuckle.  
        You grimace and squint at him. Who the fuck is Kurloz Makara really? It doesn’t matter if he acts like this is spare change to him, he has to know this is kind of a big deal, right?  
        He snaps his fingers right in your face. “Hey, bitch, less thinking, more talking,” he says.  
        “I… don’t fucking understand you,” you tell him.  
        “Good,” he says. “You don’t fucking have to. Now I’m taking you shopping since you skipped out on it yesterday. Need to buy you some sexy shit to wreck you in.”  
        “Why bother if you’re just gonna rip it off?” At this point he’s grabbed you by the arm and is pulling you over to the school’s entrance and nearby bus stop.  
        “Shredding the clothes is one of my favorite fucking parts,” Kurloz says, not bothering to turn your way. “Thought you woulda realized that much and bought more than one fucking outfit. You’re gonna need a lot more than that when you’re with me, babe.”  
        The two of you make it to the bus stop. You tug yourself free from his grip, then cross your arms and stand close to him. You look up at his face. Fuck, he’s tall. He gazes off in the distance, waiting for the next bus. What… what the fuck is he to you? You want to be annoyed with him, you want to loathe him entirely. But… he’s making that hard to do by not living up to your expectations of how the Grand Highblood is supposed to act.  
        The bus arrives and he shoves past you to get on first. Wow, how _courteous_. A few trolls glance curiously at him as he passes them. He takes an aisle seat. Some midbloods quietly move further away. You try to scoot past the big guy’s knees to take the window seat beside him but he stops you.  
        “I’m hungry,” Kurloz says. “Put your bag by me but stand in the aisle facing away.”  
        “Why the fuck should I do that?”  
        “Because I said I was hungry, idiot. Don’t make me repeat myself,” he answers, giving you a sneer as if that was the obvious answer. You lift your hands up and out in the universal signal of ‘what the fuck is that supposed to mean’, but then toss your pack beside him and stand like he asked. You wonder if he wanted you to be turned away so he can rifle through your bag. If he’s looking for food in there, he’s out of luck cause you got nothing. What’s he gonna do, chow down on your notes? ‘Sorry professor, my highblood ate my homework’.  
        You find out very quickly that’s not what he intends to eat.  
        The moment the bus starts back up, Kurloz sticks his thumbs down your jeans and underwear, pulling said articles down your thighs in one swift, forceful movement. In an instant, his hands are on your waist, fingers tucked under your shirt, and his nose is pressed into your lower back. You have just enough time to gasp before his tongue trails down your crack. He swirls it around the base of your taint and then trails back up. This is happening within full view of everyone else on the bus, every troll fully capable of watching your exposed dick harden and rise with excitement. Kurloz digs his thumbs into your back, his palms rubbing and spreading your cheeks. His tongue digs into your asshole. It’s slick and thick and practically pulses inside you. All your concerns about what this highblood means to you melt away as he sloppily eats you out. His dripping saliva tickles as it runs down your leg. You grab a handrail for support and push into him. He obliges, opening his mouth wider and scraping your cheeks with massive teeth. His lips pucker on you, his tongue plugging your rear while bobbing inside you. The rhythmic bumps of the bus add to his enthusiastic rocking. You didn’t think you could cum from rimming alone, but everything about Kurloz is so colossal and ferocious that the lust just overwhelms you. You are barely aware as the bus pulls into another stop. You hear the passengers getting off give a brief warning to those trying to get on. Someone snaps a picture on their way out. Fuck, you are so close to cumming from this. You moan and your knees go weak. Kurloz sucks his tongue out of you with a greedy slurp and tugs you into his lap. You collapse over him, your head leaning against your bag and your legs still in the aisle.  
        “Oh you fucking tease,” you curse.  
        “Shoulda worn the choker,” he grins. He tugs you upright enough to yank your pants back up, uncomfortably forcing your erection into them. You feel his spit soaking your underwear. You’re sitting in his lap for just a second before he shoves you into the window seat. Narrowly, you avoid landing on your backpack. You playfully shove him back and he chuckles. You look up at his face and he makes eye contact. Then he sticks his tongue out at you. You snort.  
        You turn away to look out the window. To compose yourself. This is wrong, stupid, really, to let your guard down around the Grand Highblood. But he just… is going against all of your expectations. Well, most of them. You’ve known him a day and his stupid face is already making you smile. He’s supposed to be your kismesis at best. You sneak a glance at him and he’s on his palmhusk. He’s playing Gushers Crushers. It’s… a brightly colored game for wigglers. Maybe the exploding colors make him think about crushing lowbloods. That’s a fun thought.

         Your first stop is at Vicret’s Intimates. An attendant, who looks like she’s about to faint the moment the Grand Highblood walks in, is told to take all of your measurements. Kurloz picks up a pen and catalogue and waves you and her off to the stalls. You have to strip down for her, which is extra awkward given your soaking underwear and half aroused dick, and she just… does not talk to you. Despite her silence, she is very efficient, going so far as to even measure your fingers to check for ring sizes. Part way through, Kurloz pokes his head in and tosses you a bag with something he’s already bought.  
        “Clean underwear,” he says before ducking back out.  
        The attendant finished measuring you and   scoots out with the data. You pick up Kurloz’s bag. On top is a slim black thong that definitely will not fit your dick. Below that is a pair of white lace panties that you can probably get into but are almost entirely see-through.  
        “This is some kind of test,” you mutter aloud to the empty stall. Weighing your options for a couple minutes, you eventually come to a conclusion and leave the dressing room.  
        “Well?” Kurloz asks. He’s sitting close by, flipping through the catalog.  
        “I don’t see the point in telling you what I chose since you’re just going to rip my pants off anyways,” you reply.  
        “Fair enough,” he says with a shrug. To your surprise, he doesn’t immediately disrobe you then and there. He goes back to his catalogue and you can see that he has a lot of boxes checked off. “Look around, pick out some more stuff. If you like it even a little, get it. And I mean that.”  
        You nod and walk away to peruse. You have a feeling KM is picking out some expensive custom shit like full on outfits so you’re just going to get the practical stuff. Basic black briefs, boring white socks, boom, in the basket. Assorted package of tank tops, don’t mind if you do. You’re not a total stick in the mud though. He’s been good today, so what’s the harm in enjoying this a little, huh? You try to find panties with slogans on them but that is, unfortunately, too low-bro for this place. The closest thing you can find is super dainty pairs with “matesprit” or “kismesis” embroidered where a tag would usually be. Each is a little different, leading you to believe that they were hand-stitched. The price also suggests that.  
        You grab four of the kismesis ones and head to the counter.  
        “You’re boring,” Kurloz says, watching a different attendant ring up your very basic purchase. The original attendant is going over Kurloz’ order form, putting in all of the right sizes.  
        “I figured you got the good stuff already,” you reply nonchalantly.  
        “You were looking for something.”  
        “Oh, yeah, I was hoping they’d have, like, the briefs with shit like “NASTY” on the butt,” you tell him. “Shit like that.”  
        Kurloz hums contently. “I know a place,” he says.  
           
        After your basics are bought and Kurloz’ special order is submitted, he takes you back to the bus. There are plenty of other stores in the area, and you tell him it’s okay to go buy normal clothes too. He says he has your measurements so he can have someone buy you jeans and stuff like that later. Tells you you’re too boring in your choices anyways and he doesn’t wanna wait through all that. No. The next stop is a special one.  
        He does not eat your asshole on this bus ride. He gives you the window seat, then sits by the aisle and plays Gushers Crushers the entire time. You’re on the bus for over half an hour before getting off, just to switch over to another bus. After twenty minutes or so, bored out of your mind and doing nothing, you lean absentmindedly against his arm.  
        You didn't think you'd fall asleep, but your eyes flutter open and see the first pink streaks of daylight breaking through the night. There are no other passengers on the bus as it skids to a halt in front of a club, Silver Moon, and you get the feeling the Highblood encouraged the driver to make this specific stop outside his normal route. The two of you get off and head towards a cluster of cold-blooded trolls. But even among the elite, the Grand Highblood stands tall and is let inside without having to bother with a line. Bass boosted audio fills the main hall, but is distant like it's being blasted from down the street. You stick close to your escort, fully aware that being separated from him without your collar on would be the end of the line for you. You don't mean being kicked out of the club or harassed. A scarred seadweller side-eyes you, sipping a warm-hued drink out of a martini glass. You gulp audibly but attempt to carry yourself with confidence.  
        Kurloz leads you to a subsection of the club that is essentially the fanciest and most expensive gift shop you've ever seen. There is a shelf with an array of briefs that have slogans such as "Nasty", "Slut", "Cumdump", "Whore",   "Naughty", "Bulge Sleeve", and "I Perform A Valuable Service Many Trolls Are Eager To Pay For, Stop Judging Me". Your face lights up and Kurloz buys the lot of em.  
        "Those," he says as he pockets his wallet, "are going in a locker with our coats and bags." He slaps your back to turn you towards the shop's exit and caresses your spine as he prods you forward. "In the mean time, how about we show a whole lot of rich snobs what underwear you chose earlier, huh?"  
        After anal on the train and rimming on the bus, exhibitionism doesn't feel so taboo anymore. Still hot though. And this crowd specifically may be the most risky lot yet.  
        "My jeans and hoodie don't really mesh with all these three piece suits anyways," you say to Kurloz. "Was wondering when you'd get me out of them."  
        Kurloz puts a hand over his heart, relaxes his shoulders, and shoots you a grin. "What did I ever do to deserve a cocky little bitch like you?"  
        Turning over your coat and such is mostly uneventful, but you can't help but gawk briefly at Kurloz' massive chest as he takes off his pinstripe jacket. His shirt is bursting at the seams, his muscles outlined by the tight fabric. He catches you eyeing him and rolls up a sleeve enough to show off his juicy arm. He brags about how easily he can snap a spine twice the size of yours. You grimace. He notices. And he pauses. He looks at you like someone might look at their lusus after accidentally stepping on its tail. Then looks at his hand, then darts his eyes over the different sections of the club.  
        "Hey," he says, nudging you away from the bit of crowd in the vicinity. Not that it's particularly busy anyway. "The challenge thing is over, by the way. You don't wanna do some shit I ask you, turn it down. No questions asked, it's all good."  
        His change in demeanor startles you. But before you can respond, he continues.  
        "You'll just have to make it up to me later on is all." He nods, satisfied, despite your lack of reply, and heads toward a stage where a male performer is entertaining a small crowd of blue bloods and above.  
        "Yeah that's not really how consent works!" you say plenty loud as you catch up with him. "But I wasn't exactly expecting you to make any kinda effort in that department so thanks I guess."  
        As you head towards the show, you recognize the performer. One Marvus Xoloto, a singer who was wildly popular back when you were a teen. Hadn’t seen much of him in recent years. Hearing him now, his voice has deepened with age, resonating in a much more alluring tone than you remember. But his movement might be helping a bit too. His act isn’t slow and sultry like you’d expect of a raunchy dancer. He’s dominating the stage, garnering hype like this is his war cry. Staring trolls dead in the eye while he clutches and claws at his clothes.  
         _I got my hands on YOUR THROAT_  
         _I’ve no intent to LET GO_  
         _You’re worried that you MIGHT CHOKE_  
         _But that’s the whole point_  
         _AND I’M JUST BEGINNING_  
        He stalks the edge of the stage, crouching at the end of every other line to make a connection to those in the front row. He strips his clothes off as he sings, but by digging into a section of fabric and straight up tearing it away. He starts with his sleeves, ripping them off in chunks until he’s got threads of a vest left. On the verse’s final line he swings in a wide arc and that remaining fabric falls away, leaving him with just a bow tie, a very deep neck tank top, a pair of skin tight pants, and tap shoes.  
         _Babe, I’m the toughest YOU’VE KNOWN_  
         _And I’m about to BREAK BONE_  
         _Guess you shoulda STAYED HOME_  
         _But now it’s too late_  
         _I’M ALREADY WINNING_  
        The sweat on his back makes his shirt cling tight to him. But not for long. The seam on one side is split apart as he yanks the shirt sideways off his chest and throws the soaked garment out into the crowd. Trolls jump aside to brawl for it. Kurloz uses the empty space to get a better spot up front. You follow him, but your eyes are entranced by the glistening abs and fabulous bouncing pecs on stage. Marvus cups his chest as he finishes the verse, dragging fingers over his nipples.  
         _You’re running OUT OF AIR_  
         _Guess what, slut? I DON’T CARE_  
         _You’re thinking LIFE’S NOT FAIR_  
         _MOTHERFUCKER, I’M THE FIRST BITCH TO KNOW IT_  
        By this point, Marvus notices the Grand Highblood reach the front row (with you in tow), and focuses solely on him. Marvus swings his hips as he rolls his pants down enough to display the strings of a thong. With his fingers in his belt loops, he tears the material away. A shapely thong with glimmering purple sequins leaves very little to the imagination.  
         _I beat the FUCKING ODDS_  
        Kurloz holds you in front of him, giving you the prime view as Marvus falls to his knees a mere foot ahead of you. He arches on his back, hands firmly planted on the stage.  
         _Now I’m the KING OF GODS_  
        He twists enough to rest on one hand. His other hand goes to his thigh, fingers sliding under the shimmering material that’s barely concealing his bouncing cock.  
         _So kneel beFORE MY ROD_  
        His fist rises swiftly into the air, taking the flimsy undergarment with it.  
         _MOTHERFUCKER, BE A GOOD BITCH AND BLOW IT_  
        The lights go out and the crowd applauds madly, signally what would normally be the end of the show. But Kurloz snaps his fingers and the lights come back on. Marvus is looking at him with a fond smile, completely unsurprised by the turn of events. He gets off his knees, shifting to a crouch. His legs are spread apart, his arms resting on them comfortably.  
        “Yo it’s been awhile big man,” he greets GHB casually. “To what may I be owing the honor?”  
        “I was in the neighborhood, buying treats for a pet,” Kurloz says, “when I saw you and decided I could go for a show.”  
        “Of course, bro,” Marvus nods. “What kinda show yall looking for tonight?”  
        Kurloz claps his hands firmly on your shoulders. “My whore here wants to suck your dick in front of these fine gentlemen. And then he’d like to get royally fucked in the ass.”  
        The crowd cheers with vigorous approval. Your heart races at the sight of Marvus’ friendly smile.  
        “Why that’d be my pleasure,” he says. He offers a hand out. Kurloz hoists you up and Marvus tugs you the rest of the way. You stand face to face, his head just a little higher than yours. He pulls you close and his exposed, erect dick leans into your crotch. Marvus turns you so that you’re both in profile, lit up center stage in front of Kurloz. He presses his lips into yours. His kiss is open mouthed and inviting, his tongue eager to meet yours, but it lacks the dominance of Kurloz’s kisses. It’s controlled, sweeter and practiced. So skillful it’s practically hypnotic, this foreign tongue dancing in your mouth and distracting you from the adoring crowd. He shifts your body to face them and slides behind you, keeping mouth contact the entire time and somehow circumventing your horns with ease. You press one hand to his cheek to secure things in this position, earning a satisfied murmur.  
        From the corner of your eye, you peer out into the crowd. Kurloz has formed a sort of throne out of trolls who are struggling to support him. He leans into them, unzips his pants, and slowly jerks his hardening member. You’re pulled back to your current situation by Marvus tugging on the edges of your shirt collar, tearing it into a v-shape, splitting it down the center as if it had buttons (which it doesn’t). You grind your hips into his as he slides the bits of your shirt away, keeping eye contact with Kurloz. You moan loudly into Marvus’ mouth when his hands rub your jeans, teasing you by caressing your thighs.  
        “Gotta keep these on for a bit longer,” he whispers, breaking the kiss. “You'll be getting low and this stage aint exactly clean.” You hum your consent. Marvus circles around to eclipse you, gently setting you down onto your knees as he does. With his ass to the audience he spreads his legs and guides the tip of his dick onto your lips. High off his kiss, you take it in greedily, drooling for the next taste of him on your tongue. His hands in your hair control your pace, keeping you slow and tempered. It doesn’t match the aggression of his earlier performance or the unrestrained nature you’d expect from Kurloz. It’s tender in a way, but also… staged. Uninterested, emotionless. Your throat isn’t complaining though. Taking Marvus in only halfway and at a reasonable speed is a welcome change and more than a little fun, too. He slides out of your mouth and steps aside, to change the angle. When you can see the crowd again, Kurloz isn’t there. As you try to find him, you spy a salty looking seadweller near the back absolutely glaring daggers into you. The same from when you first arrived. Two scars run across his broken nose.  
        But you feel the ground shake below you and it’s Kurloz. He stands on one side of you, Marvus on the other. You lick your lips and put a hand on each dick, pumping them lovingly. You take Kurloz’ into your mouth, jaws aching at the tremendous girth. You expect one of these highbloods to yank your hair, force themselves down your throat, but it doesn’t happen. You choose the pace, taking turns with both delicious dicks but clearly showing favoritism. You spend more time on Kurloz, making eye contact and trying to fit it all in. Without him holding your head down on it, you can barely make it over half way. When you break for air and switch over to Marvus, your throat is stretched and can fit his more easily. But you purposefully take in only a little, unwilling to go further for him than Kurloz. Marvus winks. You appreciate his gentle validation.  
        After a good five minutes or so of this, Kurloz tells you to stand up.  
        “Get those pants off,” he commands. You do, and…  
        “Decided to go commando, huh?” Kurloz says with a grin. “What, you didn’t like either of the fine garments I picked out for ya?”  
        “Do you wanna talk or do you wanna fuck?” you answer.  
        “Oh my fucking horrors, yall know the answer to that one.”  
        Kurloz gets close to you, pressing his chest into yours, then lifts you up off the ground. You wrap your legs around his waist as he positions you over his dick. He maneuvers the tip in. When he moves, he’s making slow headway, getting just a bit more in at a time.  
        “You know I can take more than this, right?” you whisper in his ear.  
        “Oh I’m motherfucking counting on it,” he replies. He leans back a little, showing your ass off to Marvus.  
        “Hey brother,” Kurloz says, “there’s room for two in here.”  
        The crowd goes ballistic as Marvus swaggers over to you. He puts his hands on your waist and leans in next to you.  
        “I wasn’t to be catching a name,” he says.  
        “Rufioh,” you tell him.  
        “It’s a pleasure to be formally making your acquaintance.”  
        There’s a brief discomfort as you feel his tip stretching you out. But that doesn’t last long.  
        Kurloz and Marvus forcefully thrust into you at the same time, holding you tight and slamming you down onto them. That brief discomfort is replaced with agony and you scream out in alarm. You can barely hear it though, over the roaring approval of the crowd. The highbloods continue to stay synchronized, pulling you up and down quickly and violently. On the second thrust you grab onto Kurloz’s shoulders. Your legs unhook from his hips, uselessly flopping around as if these massive cocks have paralyzed you from the waist down. Your stomach is churning. You can see it bulge with every thrust, the head of Kurloz’s dick slamming into your abs like it’s trying to poke out your navel.  
        “This better?” Kurloz grunts.  
        You collapse into the nape of his neck and groan your approval into him. He chuckles and you feel it vibrate through your chest. After a couple minutes, Kurloz and Marvus lose each other’s rhythm. The slight difference in their thrusts extenuates each cock. You can feel Marvus’, a considerable size, tugging you one way as it pushes into your spine. Then Kurloz’, larger than life as always, tugging you the other way as it pushes into your stomach. Your asshole is repeatedly stretched in either direction, your entire body rocked to and fro. You are aware of your own incessant moaning blending into cheers from the audience. Kurloz says something you can’t make out, then bites in your neck. Marvus follows shortly after. As they suck and thrust, marking you in every way, you cum onto Kurloz’ shirt and pass out.  
           
        You wake up and everything hurts. Your head and chest are against something stiff and cold and… sticky. Your stomach is aching and feels heavy as lead. You can’t feel your legs, but something’s definitely in your ass. Smaller than Kurloz or Marvus. Whoever’s fucking you now has grabbed hold of your wrists. Your head is banging against what you quickly figure out is the stage. You groan and lift it up, seeing Kurloz sitting cross legged in front of you and eating out of a bag of chips.  
        “Hey,” he says.  
        You groan louder.  
        “That’s like, your sixth guy,” he continues. “Can’t believe it took you… forty minutes to wake up again.”  
        “Holy fuck.” You slam your head back into the stage and just let it bounce against the hard surface.  
        “Does it hurt?” Kurloz asks.  
        “Mmmm yeah a bit,” you murmur.  
        Kurloz’s hand reaches under your chin and pulls your head back up. He stares you in the eyes and says…  
         _“Shoulda worn the choker.”_


	4. Into the Depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the vore chapter because it's me and that's what I do.

        Kurloz left Marvus in charge of watching over you while he went to take a dump. In your weary state, unable to tell much about what was happening around you, you can’t say for sure why he failed. Was he distracted? Not strong enough to protect you? Hands, a bunch of hands, took hold of you. You were dragged aside, thrown in the back of a limo that sped off right away.  
        “You know, I had a taste while you was passed out,” someone says. There’s a click of a lighter. He inhales, exhales. Smoke drifts over you and it smells like salt water.  
        “I was like the fourth guy though so you was way too stretched out,” he continues. “Waste a my fucking time. Couldn’t even cum, you was so useless.”  
        Through the haze of slate colored smoke, you see the seadweller who’s been glaring at you all day. Up close like this, those two violet scars look mangled and dark, a mark that’s gotta have some really painful memories associated with it. But you have a feeling you’re about to make your own painful memories. If you survive. The troll gets busy tying your hands behind your back. You can’t feel your wrist lance and assume it was taken back at the club.  
        “Are you… kidnapping me so you can… fuck me when I’m tighter?” you ask. Your senses are foggy, your body is limp. Your mind and muscles don’t want to work right now. Especially your legs. Fuck, everyone really did a number on those.  
        “Kid, you’s not fucking recognizing me, is ya?”  
        “Can’t say I is. Am.” You blink at him. “No I don’t know you.”  
        “They calls me Orphaner Dualscar,” he introduces himself. “I gots a specialty, toots. I keeps Gl’bgolyb fed.”  
        “Doesn’t she eat… like… whales?”  
        “She eats whatever I gives her,” he says. “And I intends on giving her you.”  
        Dualscar sits in a cushioned seat, with you laying in a heap at his feet. He rests one foot on your stomach, the other one tucked under your ass. Your head is leaning against one of the doors, but you don’t expect to pry it open like this. Dualscar takes a long drag of his cigar.  
        “Thought you’d have more to say to that but hey what the fuck does I care,” Dualscar continues. “I likes to hear myself talk and nothing’s better than a captive audience so allows me to give you the scoop.”  
        Dualscar gestures to you with his palm open.  
        “You,” he begins, “is a fucking dumbass.”  
        “... Thanks for the scoop,” you reply, deadpan.  
        “It’s true,” he goes on. “Does you really think the Grand Fucking Highblood gives a fuck about you? He’s using you, and I don’t very much likes why.”  
        “It’s for sex,” you say.  
        “No, see, that’s why you’s a dumbass,” Dualscar says, stomping on your gut. “Bunch of people sees it. Sex on the train. Then the bus. Now the club. Witnesses everywhere. Why? Cause he wants it to spread. He wants to fuck you, he can do it private-like, but no. He’s out here, sending a _message_.”  
        “To you?”  
        “To her majesty, the glorious Condescension,” Dualscar answers. “It’s a fucking power play between the twos of em. She takes a liking to ya, claims ya as her own lil pet project. Then he strolls along does the same thing. Why? To piss her off a course. Was never about you, kid. He’s just keeping the kismesis going strong is all.”  
        “The Condesce… is his kismesis?” Your stomach hurts but it isn’t the rigorous fucking or loads of semen that makes you feel this pain.  
        “Not for long,” Dualscar says with a smile. “I is been pitch for her for ages and she is not looking my way, but all that’s changing today. Whatever Mister Makara was planning on doing to yas in the long run to piss her off, I aint gonna do. I cuts to the chase. She runs to me, livid, when she hears how I tossed ya to Gl’bgolyb. But I’s smart, see. She likes ya enough to be angry, but not enough to kill me over it. Her, Makara, maybe that cerulean pirate ya like, they’ll all be pitched at me. But aint none of ems gonna make too bigs a stink over one more dead mudblood.”  
        “No one ever does,” you whisper. The gravity of your situation is sinking in. He’s right. Highbloods kill lowbloods. It’s what they do. And nothing’s ever done about it. At least, not enough. That’s what you wanted to change. It’s what you’re going to change. After you get out of this. Then it’s goodbye Kurloz, goodbye Condesce. _And hello revolution_.  
        “We’s arrived,” the Orphaner says as someone opens the door for him. “Any last requests?”  
         “How about a last meal?” you ask. “I’d like to give one last blowjob before I go.”  
        “This aint my first rodeo, kid,” he says, kicking you out of the limo. “You’s gonna bite my dick and make a run for it.”  
        That was your exact plan and you hate that he saw it through it.  
        “Don’t worry I wasn’t gonna honor any last requests anyhow,” he says. He heads towards a dock and his driver drags you along behind him. The water starts to bubble, waves rocking nearby ships in the port. It’s cloudy, dark, looks like it could rain any minute. When you’re hit with water it isn’t precipitation. It’s the splashing of monstrously huge tentacles breaking out of the ocean’s surface. They are white, slimy, and thick. And followed by a shimmering white beak attached to a monolithic body. The driver holds you up over the edge. The beak snaps greedily under your feet, tentacles rising up to meet you.  
        “Sayonara, whore,” Orphaner says, snuffing out his cigarette. You’re dropped. 

  
        As you fall you curl up small with your arms sticking out behind you. The rope around your wrist snags on Gl’bgolyb’s beak and tears apart. You plummet into her maw with your hands free. Her throat is vast, larger than a hallway. But you only get a brief glimpse before her beak closes and traps you in complete darkness. Your hands scrape helplessly against her tongue, but it’s slick surface offers no holds. You continue to fall, bouncing off her inner linings, until the hallway narrows. You use the tighter space to your advantage, spreading your limbs out like a star. Your hands find a better grip when you have your legs on another wall to support you. Only, you have no strength left in those legs. They slip easily and you continue to fall.  
        You keep your head high, letting your legs drop below you. The corridor continues to shrink. You manage to dig either elbow into her throat and hold yourself momentarily. Her walls pulse with her heartbeat, pressing into your waist. Her flesh around you is warm and throbbing, holding you snugly in place. The gentle movement and constriction excites you and you hate yourself for thinking that in your darkest hour.  
        Cold salt water douses you in occasional spurts. The harsh liquid makes you think of Aranea. Distant and hostile, but strong and invigorating. She is galaxies away right now, unable to come to your rescue. Not that she’d bother even if she were on Alternea right now. Hot acidic juices rise up and tingle your skin, but you hold strong. The tickle as it passes over your legs and threatens to further arouse you reminds you of Kurloz. You don’t know him anymore. You never really did. But he isn’t going to come save you either. It’s up to you to get out of this.  
        And, conveniently enough, this form of execution is perfectly suited to your unique skills.  
        You focus on an uncommon ability you possess: communing with lusii. The walls of Gl’bgolyb’s throat twinkle with tiny sparks of orange as your power manifests.  
        “ _Let me go_ ,” you ask her in a voice that is within your mind and hers but makes no physical sound.  
        Another wave of stomach acid washes over you, burning your skin. It loosens your grip on her, and you slide further down.  
         _Y O U   A R E   N O T   T H E   F I R S T   T O   C O M M U N E   W I T H   M E,_  you hear within your mind. _T H E   O T H E R   M O R S E L S   F E L L , A N D   S O   T O O   S H A L L   Y O U._  
        “ _No, no I won’t,_ ” you tell her. You dig your elbows in further and pull yourself up to where you were before. You push off with one arm and slam your hand higher up, nails digging into her slippery interior. You dig your teeth into the wall as well, giving yourself enough leverage to slam the other hand in. With both hands and a great deal of upper body strength, you fling yourself further up her lengthy tongue, again slamming tooth and nail into her.  
      _Y O U   W I S H   T O   C L I M B   L I K E   T H A T ?   Y O U   F O O L . I   W I L L   N O T   M A K E   I T   E A S Y   F O R   Y O U ._  
        There’s a distant light from above you, a brief spurt of rushing water, and then a rumbling sound. Something is coming towards you.  
        You psychically sing to her.

 _“I got my hands on YOUR THROAT_  
 _I’ve no intent to LET GO_  
 _You’re worried that you MIGHT CHOKE_  
 _But that’s the whole point_  
 _AND I’M JUST BEGINNING”_  
  
        What was coming towards you turns out to be tentacles, which she must have shoved down her own mouth just to knock you off her tongue. They wriggle and writhe around your naked body, coating you in a thick ooze. You feel like you’re made more of slime then flesh by now with how heavy it feels on you. The squirming tentacles push you down, careening over you and dragging you with them. A bubbling acid tickles at your toes, boiling hotter than any juices that had risen up before. It burns the soles of your feet, gnawing at your ankles.  
        But you aren’t going to give up now.  
  
_"Babe, I’m the toughest YOU’VE KNOWN_  
 _And I’m about to BREAK BONE_  
 _Guess you shoulda STAYED HOME_  
 _But now it’s too late_  
 _I’M ALREADY WINNING”_  
  
        You feel a slimmer tentacle nudging against your nose and face, trying to dislodge your teeth from her tongue. You pay attention to the angle, then oblige at the perfect moment. When you open your mouth, you hold it such that Gl’bgolyb’s appendage slithers into you. Your teeth are no longer supporting you and this new force in your mouth is pushing down into your throat, trying to go into your stomach. Combined, these elements make you drop rapidly. Your legs submerge in acidic liquids, burning away your leg hair and chewing into your skin. But the pain only encourages you to do exactly what you were planning. You violently bite down on her spindly limb. You gag as it thrashes inside your torso and devastates your organs. But secured on it, you dig your claws into nearby tentacles and start tangling them together, knotting them inside of her throat so they can’t push any further into the narrow space. Your body is rocked by her hollowing.  
  
_“You’re running OUT OF AIR_  
 _Guess what, slut? I DON’T CARE_  
 _You’re thinking LIFE’S NOT FAIR_  
 _MOTHERFUCKER, I’M THE FIRST BITCH TO KNOW IT”_  
  
        You tug on her slender tentacle. You’ve pierced it and her blood is running down your face. Similar to how you scaled her tongue, you release and bite, release and bite, climbing up her tentacles, using the nearby ones and their knots for support. They all bounce around, banging into you and bruising your chest (inside and out). But you continue to climb. It’s reminiscent of your rope-climbing days in the army, only this is noticeably slimier and you are slightly worse for wear now then you were then. Your mouth is overflowing with Gl’bgolyb’s blood. Briefly, tentacles try to constrict around you. There’s another rush of salt water. You can’t breath.  
  
_“I beat the FUCKING ODDS”_

        And then there’s light. The moon, dimly showing through the clouds. The tentacles are pulling you up towards it.

_“Now I’m the KING OF GODS”_

        Gl’bgolyb spits you out in disgust, and you vaguely hear a snide comment from her as you fly up into the cold air. But you don’t register it. You are _ecstatic_. Her massive body retreats into the water and your knees crash into the dock.

        “So kneel beFORE MY ROD,” you sing aloud, riding your enthusiasm and deliria, “MOTHERFUCKER, BE A GOOD BITCH AND BLOW IT _.”_

        You wheeze and fall forward, collapsing painfully into the wood.  
        As your eyes blink shut and you pass out AGAIN, you hear footsteps.

  


   


End file.
